The prickle of hay straw stabbed and itched Gaelen unmercifully, the irritation amplified by the endless jostle of wagon wheels bumping over the rutted country highway. He stifled a groan as the wagon hit a particularly deep rut and bounced him hard against the unforgiving edges of a nearby crate. Thesel’dorshrapnel peppering his back and arms shifted, shredding new muscle as it dug deeper, but he clung to his weak invisibility weave with dogged determination.
For three days and nights he’d made miserably slow but determined progress towards Celieria City. He’d lost countless bells to unconsciousness when exhaustion, pain, and blood loss took their inevitable toll, but he’d persevered. Running when he could, walking and even crawling when that was all he could manage, he’d pushed on. Last night, when he’d grown too weak to continue, he’dhitched a ride with an unsuspecting farmer heading south to deliver crates of canned goods and fresh produce to Vrest. The ride had been hard, his sleep sporadic, but at least he’d gotten a little rest without losing all forward progress.
The wagon slowed, and the sounds of distant activity reached Gaelen’s ears. He forced open bleary eyes and dragged himself to peer over the edge of the wagon. Up ahead, he could see the clustered buildings that formed the outskirts of Vrest.
Time to abandon his ride. He’d barely managed to hold the simple invisibility weave with the amount ofsel’dorstill in him, and though it had worked to hide him from a farmer preoccupied with driving his team, he couldn’t risk having sharper-eyed citizens of Vrest detect him. A wounded Fey with a telltale scar across his brow would draw too much unwanted attention, and if news of his approach reached Celieria City before he did, the Tairen Soul might well flee with his soul-cursed, Mage-sired mate before Gaelen could get close enough to kill her.
Slowly, each motion an agonizing exercise in discipline and determination, Gaelen lifted his body up and straddled the sides of the wagon. As the cart neared a small, bridged creek bed, he pushed himself off and went tumbling down the embankment. Each bump and hard jostle sent agony ripping through him. His invisibility weave failed, and he dragged himself to cover beneath the bridge and wedged himself up high to avoid detection.
Gods, that had all but slain him. He flopped back against the shadowed embankment and drew breath in short, sharp gasps. Beneath his skin, lumps ofsel’dorburned like acid.
He fumbled for one of the black Fey’cha strapped across his chest. Two hundred miles still lay between Gaelen and his prey in Celieria City. Healthy, he could have run it in less than ten bells, but in his current condition, he’d be lucky to make it in ten days.
Time to lose a little more of the black metal the Eld had dispersed so freely. When he reached Celieria City, he’d give the High Mage’s get a little red Fey metal in return.
Vadim Maur’s flowing purple robes whispered in the tomblike silence as he descended to the deepest level of Boura Fell. His hair, long and bone white, shone bright in the flickering lamplight of the dark corridor, a beacon for the two men and the leashed flame-haired woman, Elfeya, who walked silently behind him.
Three days had passed since he’d last called the Celierian girl. He’d found her, but she’d managed to rebuff him and lock her mind away from him. For the last three nights he hadn’t even managed to locate her, let alone call her. The failure infuriated him.
Kolis’s ensorcelled gift hadn’t worked either. The cursed spell still hadn’t even been activated! Vadim’s plan to capture the girl during the Bride’s Blessing was looking more promising by the day. Fortunately, he had already put those plans in motion. He wasn’t a Mage who believed in leaving things to chance.
Victory came to those who planned for it.
And punishment—swift and severe—came to anyone who stood in his way.
At the end of the level’s longest corridor, two burly men stood guard by a largesel’dor-plated door. They held barbedsel’dorspears in their meaty hands.
“Open it,” the High Mage ordered.
One of the guards grabbed the key ring at his waist and unlocked the door, swinging it open and standing aside to allow the Mage and his followers to enter.
The room was dark. Vadim lifted a hand, and Fire ignited the sconces throughout the room. Light blazed, illuminating a huge, cavernous space hewn from the black rock of Eld. Veins ofsel’dorran through the rock, a natural damper for the magic released here. The room was a scientist’s delight, a laboratory stocked with a vast array of implements and pharmacopoeia to aid in the High Mage’s centuries-old quest for knowledge. In the center of theroom a wide table, fitted withsel’dor-barbed restraining straps, was bolted to the floor.
So much had been tried. So much had been learned. Almost enough, but not quite.
A largesel’dorcage sat against the far wall. Within it, a naked man cringed at the sudden brightness of the room.
Beside the High Mage, Elfeya made a soft, quickly muffled sound. A sob. The Mage smiled with pride. Even after a thousand years, Elfeya still had the ability to weep. It was a testament to his careful handling of her, the great care he had taken with both his pets. So many other Mages had lost their captives to madness, broken them with frivolous torture, but Vadim Maur had yet again succeeded where others failed.
The man in the cage went still. His head came up, nostrils flaring. His leaf-green eyes were drawn to the woman. Elongated pupils narrowed to slits, then opened wide like a hunting cat’s. His eyes glowed for the briefest of moments, a predictable flare of power that made him gasp when thesel’dormanacles piercing his wrists and ankles twisted the power into agonizing pain.
Elfeya cried out and flinched even as he did.
The man launched himself at the barbed bars of his cage. His fingers wrapped around them, heedless of the sharp, jagged metal slicing into his flesh. He shook the bars violently in a grip that still retained incredible strength even after so many centuries of imprisonment. Even though the bars were made of barbedsel’dor, if the man’s wrists and ankles had not beensel’dor-pierced—and deeply—nothing could have held him in the cage.
He bared his teeth. He howled his rage. He howled his desire.
The woman trembled.
Vadim Maur laughed. Really, they were endlessly entertaining. And so easy to control, once you knew the trick of it.
“Come here, my pet.” The Mage held out a hand, and although Elfeya’s golden eyes blazed hatred—that had not dimmed in the last thousand years either—she came to him. She didn’t flinch ashe put the razor-sharpsel’dorblade to her throat. The black jewel in the pommel of the dagger began to glow with subtle red lights. It had tasted her blood before.
“Take him to the table,” the Mage commanded, and the two servants he’d brought with him moved reluctantly to thesel’dorcage and the mad creature within.
As they unlocked the cage door, the prisoner sprang towards them, only to stop abruptly with a harsh cry.
Thesel’dorblade had sliced into the woman’s throat, just deep enough to cause pain. The High Mage smiled as he watched her golden eyes beg the manacled prisoner for death, laughed as the prisoner gave her a tortured look from eyes that now held despairing sanity. Subdued without a hand or a hint of magic laid on him, the prisoner allowed himself to be led to the table, and the servants strapped him down.
